


We're Doing It Wrong

by baaliisms



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Infected Characters, Inspired by Left 4 Dead (Video Games), Minor Character Death, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 10:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15947105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baaliisms/pseuds/baaliisms
Summary: Had someone told me that, one day, I would consider a monster as my greatest ally, I would have laughed in their face. I guess beggars can't be choosers when there is no one left to choose from.





	1. Prologue

For two weeks now, I've been on my own, and from the very start of it he has been following me. In dire times like this, people do often band together - for company, for survival, whatever the case - but this...this is not normal. No part of this could qualify as normal. Infected do not randomly mellow out and tag along with people. People - sane people, did not allow Infected within ten feet of them without a melee weapon in hand. Everything about us is positively screwy, but that's how it is now.

Do I trust him? God, no, of course I don't. Once he may have been a decent man, now infected with a virus we do not yet understand and transformed into a deranged monster. A Smoker, as that particular type had been called. However, he is the closest thing I have to an ally these days.

Currently, he is curled up in the corner, on top of a pile of blankets, a ratty old sleeping bag, and the coat he adamantly refuses to return to me. Comfort, I suppose, is a luxury we all seek, in whatever form we can find it. At some point, he must have removed his jacket, as it's lying in a heap on the floor nearby, and he keeps flopping about uncomfortably. Understandably. It's freaking hot in here; the sun set a few hours ago, and still it seems as though the trailer's only purpose us to boil the two of us alive. Beggars can't be choosers, though, and even if it's not the most comfortable place to bed down for the night, it is safe. The red door before me had proven that much. So, we can deal for a while longer.

Besides, it had a bit to offer on its own. Inside, laying forgotten on an old card table, there had been leftover cans of food when I first arrived, plus the pile of blankets my - the Smoker is currently occupying. Having soft things to sleep on is always a plus. Now, I am no pampered little princess, not by any means, but one can only take so much sleeping on plywood, you know?

So, on to the big question: how did I end up traveling with an Infected?

It's a funny story, really. Not 'ha-ha' funny, of course. It's also a long one, now that I think about it. In two weeks, we have been through more than I had been in the other twenty-four years of my life - but before I get to the fun stuff, maybe I should make some introductions. One day, someone is going to find this journal, and wonder who in the hell this crazy woman was.

Not going to lie, I want the credit I deserve.

My name is Rachele Evans. Before the world went to Hell, I was a nursing student, working as a waitress at The Nook, the lonesome little diner on Main Street. Reading this, you obviously can't see me, so...I'll be blunt here. I'm short. I'm fairly plain. The term 'muffin-top' was coined for people like me, simple as that. My brown hair is constantly frizzy, no matter what I do with it - not that that matters now. I've never fired a gun in my life, hate the thought of blood (yes, I was going into the wrong career - that's very clear to me now), and the thought of killing anything makes me sick to my stomach. I'm honestly the last person you want to have along during an apocalypse. Hate to shatter your fantasy of the drop-dead gorgeous blonde heroine who somehow manages to survive the entirety of every zombie movie out there, but you'll just have to deal with it.

On to my companion. He's - honestly, I don't know where to start with him. A big ugly brute, if I'm honest, with his green skin and dangling tongue. I've...oh, I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I've named him. It felt strange to do it, believe me - I mean, this man was once a human being, and I named him like a pet. He doesn't seem to care, nor has he since I started doing it, and I think he's starting to grasp the idea that when I say 'Mick', I'm talking to him.

Yes, Mick. Why, I couldn't tell you - he just struck me as a 'Mick'.

That doesn't really tell you much about him, I realize, but I promise that, by the time you reach the end of this journal, you will know all you need to about him. And, now that that's out of the way, I can get started.

Two weeks ago, I was returning from a family visit in Toronto. Nothing out of the ordinary there, as I tried to make a trip up there as often as possible - and still, I'll remember that day forever. For as long as I live, with my mind still my own, as that was the day I learned exactly what it felt like to be completely and utterly alone.


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all started with a Rolo...

Ah, where to begin. I suppose the very start would be ideal, but let's be honest, that's all the boring stuff. You know, the typical 'heard the announcer talking about this infection on TV, didn't believe it, found out when a zombie nearly tore my throat out' kind of thing. Maybe those details will come up a little later, who knows. For now, though, what do you say we start with how I met Mick.

That day, fortune was apparently on my side. A vast majority of the Infected I had come across were too busy mumbling to themselves, fighting with each other, or staring at a wall to pay me any mind - plus, I knew those streets like the back of my hand, to slinking through the alleys and into our old Corner Store. Or, rather, what was left of it. All but two of the front windows had been shattered, broken glass crinkling beneath my feet from the moment I entered, and the rest of the shop fared no better. The interior was completely and utterly trashed. Shelves had been knocked to the floor, merchandise scattered all over - some of it crushed and ruined beneath them. The cash register had been opened, too - who the hell thinks about money in a situation like this? Honestly?

Given the state, I was skeptical that I'd find anything. However, there was a little bag of chocolates that I stumbled upon, a little mushed but well enough intact. They wouldn't sustain me for very long, I knew, but they were better than nothing. With luck, they would tide me over until I found something more suitable to eat. Now, that discovery managed to spark a small shred of hope that maybe, maybe there was more to be found, somewhere that others may not have thought or cared to search. Not on the main sales floor, of course, but perhaps in the room behind the register counter. Over fallen debris I stepped, careful not to make a sound in fear of attracting the attention of the monsters lurking on the street just outside, and jiggled the doorknob. Unlocked, to my surprise and momentary relief, though it still would not budge. Another turn of the knob and I shoved with all my might - once and once again, all to no avail.

Considering the shape of everything else, it seemed a fair bet that something had either fallen in the way, or was placed there on purpose. Well, clutter wasn't going to stop me, and if the latter proved to be true, then I might find myself a companion who had stowed away in there. I was getting through that damned door, no matter what! So, I counted to three under my breath and threw all my weight against the scratched wood, my heart leaping as it splintered and cracked and finally opened enough for me to peer inside. On top of all that clatter, however, was a startled yelp from inside, followed by crunch of a falling object and frantic scrambling over whatever it was that hit the concrete floor.

Before I dared to step foot inside, I tipped my head to peer through the opening. Two small windows were boarded, the sun barely managing to penetrate, but I could clearly see something in there. Something that gave me the start of my life - something that I remember a newscaster referring to as a 'special' infected. In an instant, my heart rose into my throat. Any sort of Infected was a hassle to deal with, but - hell, I might as well just lie down and let it kill me. At the time, I was entirely unarmed, what else could I do?

Dry coughs reverberated off the walls as the creature struggled to its feet, knocking a grimy plate off the table it used to steady itself. My first thought, and it was a horrible one, was that this thing might have been Mr. Berque, the old shop owner, that had become infected. A quick glance at the monster's feet, however, told otherwise, as Berque's pudgy corpse lay among the mess. Pieces were missing from his arms, his shoulders, and - oh, god, I couldn't look at that. There might have been a small part of me that was thankful when the Special stepped closer and blocked my view of the...of him.

And up so close, I got a much better view of the monster, and slowly began to realize exactly what it was.

Sickly green and black mottled skin covered massive lumps all over its mutated head and arms. To my surprise, it still had locks of dark hair resting against its forehead, messy and dirty and surely caked with blood. Its ashen eye regarded me, and I could almost sense its anger. Not that I blamed it, honestly; if someone hit me with a door, I'd be pretty ticked, too. What really caught my attention was the leathery whip of a tongue dangling from its open mouth. It coughed and wheezed, quickly running a hand through its thin hair, and stared at me with such intent for what seemed like forever, and then proceeded to look about with haste, almost like it was looking for an escape.

I'd heard the description on the news before. The Infected the broadcasters had spoken of were, in essence, exactly like this one, only they always mentioned more...'tongues'. People were advised to avoid them at all costs, and take cover if and when they heard that telltale hacking. If I remembered correctly, they identified this particular type as a 'Smoker'. Fitting, I thought, for its constant wheezing and---

Something splattered against the wood, knocking a few splinters loose and effectively shaking me from my momentary trance. Another sharp sound echoed in the store (me, squawking in surprise, as I came to realize), and I took a quick step back. On the opposite side of the door came the most disgusting slurping sound I had ever heard in my life, but some foolish curiosity made me want to look again. I kept my distance, of course, and leaned over to see through the crack. The Smoker had taken to scratching at the plywood lining the windows, its short nails barely making a mark despite its effort. Its gravelly voice rang through the store once more, and in an instant, it turned its attention to me again.

I panicked. Wish there was another way to put it, or that I could say I stood bravely in the face of a monster, but I can't. I stood there, frozen in fear, every last inch of me starting to tremble. What if...what if it burst through the door? What if that tongue managed to slip through a crack and catch me - what would I do? I had nothing to kill it with, not that I could kill it anyway. Instead, because I am a genius, let me tell you - I dug into the bag I carried and threw a handful of chocolate at it. Why? Hell if I know. It was a first instinct; not a great instinct, but it was the first. Maybe some part of my mind was hoping to cause a distraction. Hard to say for sure, with how rattled my brain was at the time. There's no way of knowing what I was thinking there.

To my credit, some of those pieces apparently made it inside. The Smoker's attention had fallen to its feet, its head tilted to one side. Observing. Wheezing, it slowly crouched and, after a bit of tentative poking at it, found the courage to take the candy and press it to the base of its tongue. As it stood to its full height again, it made another raspy call, though this time, there was a difference to it. It seemed far less panicked and more...approving, if that makes sense.

The Smoker leaned in, peeking through the little opening of the door until his sights fell on me. Another cry had me cringing, instantly whipping a glance at the windows for other Infected - none of which seemed to care a lick about his piercing calls, but I remained worried - and quelled the urge to shush the noisy Infected. Were all these bloody things so loud? If so, how in the world did they manage to catch people? It made no sense.

Anyway, its reaction sparked curiosity somewhere beneath the anxiety. I had hoped it'd pay attention to the chocolate, that's true, but I certainly did not expect it to come looking for another, which at the time I could only assume he was doing. To test this theory, I dipped a hand into the bag once more and found myself rewarded with an eager grunt from its side of the door. With a bit of shuffling, its arm pushed through the splintered crack in the wood, fingers grasping in my direction - right, well, that took care of that. I was right.

The candy I held, I tossed his way...but my aim sucks. The first hit the wall and merely bounced to the floor; too close to his reach for me to go and retrieve it. So, I pulled out another and - success! That one flew past the creature, hitting the floor with a soft noise I could barely hear over the thing's heavy breathing. In an instant, it yanked its arm back inside, all but pouncing on the treat the moment it was free. How it's even able to eat, I simply do not understand. The tongue should have made it difficult, if not impossible to do so. Unfortunately, the Smoker kept its head down until its prize was gone, so I could not see how it worked. When it did look up again, that single ashy eye turned to bore into mine, his heavy, labored breath the only sound in the store...

Now that I think about it, that should have been my first sign that something was wrong. I couldn't hear the usual bustle of the common Infected outside...ah well, I digress.

"...you like these, eh?" I whispered, slowly drawing another from the bag. The Smoker cocked his head, his response no more than a wet, raspy whine. Good enough, I thought and meant to toss another (because, really, why not?), until another sound caught my attention.

Heavy breaths. Not those of the Smoker, but much...deeper. These were more akin to growls than breaths. Unfortunately, I knew that sound; the encounter I mentioned earlier in this entry made sure I knew it. That sound belonged to the infected so appropriately referred to as a 'Tank', and it was apparently lurking somewhere nearby. Thus came my first wise decision of the day: get the hell out of there.

With my candy held close, I backed away from the broken door, muttering a soft 'sorry, bud' to the trapped Smoker before I slipped out a shattered window behind the main counter. Out back, there was another alley, though I didn't remember exactly where it lead to - didn't matter, though, so long as it took me away from the store. Behind me came the sound of wood splintering and a choked bawl to follow. Apparently, the Infected I left behind did not appreciate his treats running off like that.

The growls I'd been hearing grew louder, though I could not pinpoint the direction they were coming from. Honestly, I almost expected to turn a corner and come face to face with the massive Infected. Thankfully, not the case. Instead, I found myself peering into a small, abandoned parking lot. There were still a few cars littered about, left forgotten by their owners, and when I narrowed my eyes against the sun's rays, I noticed a trailer across the way. A utility trailer, by the look of it, but it should serve as a decent hiding place for the time being, right?

...right!

Unless my eyes were mistaken (they weren't), there was a red door on the side of it, meaning it should be safe enough to stay in for a time. Then, I wasn't sure exactly how much of a beating those doors could withstand, so it seemed better not to chance it. I could stay in there for the night, and move on the next day - it'd be better than sitting exposed outside. If only I'd had that thought in mind back then, how stupid it was to be out in the open. At the time, however, it seemed like a brilliant idea. Truly.

Murmuring a soft prayer of thanks to...whoever might still care about my fate (not that I had high hopes for that, not going to lie), I booked it across that lot. Now, as I said, there were a few cars in the lot - and by a few, I mean a few, so I was out in plain sight for a majority of that run. Stupid, stupid, stupid. In no time flat, there were footsteps on my tail, pounding the concrete with such ferocity that I just knew they would catch me. Groans, growls, and angry screeches reached my ears; it was no tank or other special infected, much to my relief, but my pursuer was still Infected, and I was still unarmed!

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit...

The screams were right behind me. Part of me was certain it could simply reach out and grab me before I could reach the door. Close - I was so close, but still so far away! Heart slamming against my ribs, fearful tears pouring down my cheeks, I pushed myself to run faster - not that it would matter. I am no athlete, and the Infected do not tire. No matter how hard I pushed, it would still catch me in time.

It must have known that, too, somewhere in the dark recesses of its diseased mind, for it shrieked its triumph -

\- followed by a wet slap, and the ever-distinct crack of broken bones.


	3. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you were to tell me that one day, I would consider a monster as my greatest ally, I would have laughed in your face. I guess beggars can't be choosers when there is no one left to choose from.

Despite that little voice in my brain screaming at me not to, I looked back over my shoulder to see exactly what had just occurred. I quickly realized that I should have listened. Without facing forward, I failed to notice the crack in the pavement, right up until the toe of my shoe caught on it. The next thing I knew, I was falling face-first towards the ground, the impact knocking the wind right out of me. Normally, a person would panic only due to their lack of breath; the flare of panic I felt came from the combination of that and the teensy little fact that a goddamn Infected was on my tail.

…or at least there had been, prior to the fall..

I rolled on to my back, both shocked and utterly GRATEFUL I'd been allowed enough time to gain some semblance of control over my breathing. Good Lord, for a minute there, I was almost sure I was dead, destined to be torn apart by the same rabid human who'd chosen to give chase in the first place. It sounded like it had been close, its footfalls coming in time with mine against the pavement, but when I raised my head to look, I realized just how wrong I'd been.

That nasty thing was trapped against a car, gristly wraps of flesh squeezing tight just below its ribs. Naturally, it fought that hold, but its efforts were all in vain; even I could see that from where I lay. . The bonds held tight, no sign of giving, and a croaky voice called its triumph. Struggles paused with that (a flinch of sorts, perhaps? Who could say), but in a moment, it resumed, screeching in retaliation to its attacker. The sight - I didn't know how to take it, at first.. Part of me wanted to watch, to figure out exactly what was going on over there; of course I did, people are naturally curious, I think, and even those situations that scare the bloody hell out of us pique some wonder. However, I knew better. Instead, I climbed to my feet, a bit more difficult a task than it should have been as my ankle throbbed like mad. Survival is a powerful motivator, though, so adrenaline is to thank for my ability to stumble towards the trailer at a pace akin to a jog. Quick as I could, I slipped inside,, slamming the red door shut and throwing the lock. For extra protection, I lodged one of the two lawn chairs against the handle. Because, you know, they're super-effective against zombies that want to come in.

Still, it was something, and at the time, that gave me some peace of mind. I slumped against the back wall and slid down to the floor, both arms curling around my knees to draw them against my chest. My heart was still pounding; from the run, from the chase, and perhaps most importantly, from the sounds just outside my safe spot. A sickening Crack, and I cringed. had only heard a similar noise once before, on a much smaller scale admittedly, when my sister had broken her arm falling out of a tree. God, I had always hoped to never hear it again, and yet, there I was..

Another gritty howl, and shambling footsteps scuffed over the blacktop. Closer. Closer. I buried my face in the crook of my elbow. Childish, I know, but a piece of me still hoped it would help. Go away, go away, go away!

A bang at the door drew a startled scream from me. Short nails raked over the steel, followed by familiar coughs and wheezes which echoed through the trailer. Biting my lip, I peered towards the door, meeting the ashen eye of a Smoker. It—he (I had to mentally kick myself to remember that it was still a he) cocked his head, wheezing quietly, and wrapped a swollen hand around the bar. My eyes wandered down his face to the dangling tongue. Obviously, that Common had done a number on the Smoker; nail and bite marks lined the exposed flesh, dark green fluid dripping down to the tip. I assumed it was blood. After all, what else could it be - ah, yeah, that's probably one of those things I'm happier not knowing, now that I think about it. In any case, I figured it was blood from a wound somewhere but couldn't tell exactly how bad said was—that damn Smoker was absolutely filthy—but I…wait, why did I care again?

My wishful thinking did not work, so I tried something a little more forceful. "Go away…" I all but whispered, my voice hoarse and catching in my throat.. The Infected stared at me, still hacking up a diseased lung. He shook the bars, tilting his head the opposite way, never once taking that creepy eye off me. "No! Get out of here!" I said it as if it would do something. It did not.

He looked exactly like the one I saw at the store (same clothing, same hairline, a blackened patch above that big,gray eye), so I assumed he was. Besides, most of the Smokers newscasters talked about were brown with multiple tongues protruding from them, so this one stood out. It had to be the same one. Without any other idea, I dug into the bag of candy, taking out one piece, and whipped it at the door. That placated him before, right? With any luck, it would make him happy enough just to leave. Unfortuantely, my aim sucks as badly as my athletic skill, so it simply hit steel and fell to the floor.

The Smoker pressed his face eagerly against the bars, trying to see exactly where his fallen treat had rolled. Still within sight, but well out of reach, and for him that just would not do! He hollared again, and attention fell back on me.

Damn it. The Infected was not going to leave until he got the chocolate. I knew that (at least, I was fairly sure that was the only thing he really wanted). What his fascination was with Rolos, I do not understand, but at least he was not attacking me. I would've expected that tongue to shoot through the bars, or for a particularly violent tug at the door to pull it off his hinges, but...well, thank God for small blessings, I suppose. It gave me some confidence, which may not have been the best thing in the world, now that I think on it. Cautiously, I crawled over to where the candy lay, reaching one shaky hand out to grab it. The Smoker shifted with a fair amount of eagerness, his coughs growing a bit more impatient as the seconds ticked on. He shoved a hand through the bars, appearing as if he'd meant to grab me until the very last second, when he switched to simply holding an open palm toward me.

I held the candy in my fist tight enough to squish it a bit, teeth worrying at my lower lip. He made a noise, similar to his trademark yell though nowhere near as loud, and shook his hand. "All right…" I murmured softly, hesitatnly hauling myself off the floor to stand before him.. One Infected nearby was enough, I did not want to attract any more with the sound of my voice carrying through the parking lot.. "I'll make you a deal: Don't grab my arm, and I'll give this to you."

The Smoker rasped, the bouncing tongue leaving greenish-black smears on the bars. I should have kicked myself for my stupidity at the time, but I reached a trembling arm towards him, the promised treat tucked away in my palm.. I was almost certain my teeth had punctured my lip at that point, but I'd managed to summon every ounce of courage still left in me to hover over his extended hand and drop the Rolo. At first, he did not retreat, as I'd assumed he would. It seemed like he was waiting for me to back off before he did, quite a difference from the panicky Infected I had seen not even an hour prior. When he did, though, he quickly shoved the candy into his mouth, wrapper and all. That was...right, well, whatever made him happy.

Even after he had finished, the Smoker stood outside, staring in at me. I quickly slid the bag of sweets behind my back, dropping it to the floor so I might present both hands.. "Sorry. No more." He wasn't buying it, stretching his neck in some attempted to peer around me. He KNEW I had them, and that scared me. My dog was not even smart enough to realize that her bone would still be there, even after it went behind my back. Now a zombie had figured that out? They're smart, apparently - or, at least smarter than folks had given them credit for.

Watching him, I suddenly realized that I was in range for that tongue. Maybe I should've been grateful for that, but the only thought repeating in my head was a single question: Why hadn't he grabbed me? He had every opportunity, really, and if he wanted the candy, he probably could just snatch it. Or, kill me first and take it from my corpse. Most of my information on the Infected had come from the news, for the Specials anyway. Every broadcast I watched stressed the point to avoid Smokers, lest you want to find yourself dragged up the side of a building and beaten to death before you even realized you were off the ground. They were supposed to be opportunistic, taking advantage wherever it arose.

If that was the case, what the hell was up with this one? The opportunity is there, but he's simply not taking it.

Maybe he was just hungry, was my first thought. In my opinion, candy was superior to human (or Infected) flesh, not that I expected him to share that opinion of course. I had to admit, I was not overly willing to share all my candy with a zombie. It was my last source of food for the time being. With that Smoker hanging around outside, I was not planning on leaving soon, which meant that candy had to last. Which also meant that I couldn't let him see me (or, more accurately, I couldn't let me see him), else I might be tempted to hand over a few pieces. So, I sank again to the floor and crawled over beside the door, hoping I was out of range of that tongue, should he finally deem it necessary to use it. Pressing my back against the wall, I took a deep, cleansing breath to settle nerves. You're safe in here, my mind repeated, and I forced myself to believe it..

The Smoker hollered again, and I saw some of his dark hair and bloated skin through the bars. The head tipped, pressed harder against the metal which kept him at bay, almost seeming as if he was…looking for something. Me, maybe? The candy was still on the opposite side, lying forgotten on the plywood floor - well within view, now that I had moved way -, was he so intent on seeing me? Did he still believe I had it, or maybe that he'd only get it if it came directly from me? More importantly, why in the hell did I care? He was just another infected, one I should ignore until he loses interest and goes on his way. However, Smokers are not easy to ignore. They're so damn loud it's almost impossible to pay much mind to anything else, the hacking and wheezes and gravelly sounds serving as a constant reminder of their presence. Still, I was going to try.

Tomorrow. Maybe he'd lose interest by then and wander off.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this…" I began softly, laying my head against the plywood wall. "But…" I paused. No, I was not going to finish that thought. I was going to wish him a good night, out of habit, but normal, sane people don't wish zombies 'good night'. Instead, I scoffed, holding my knees to my chest again with my face buried in my arms and cried into my lap as loud as I dared, "Why won't you just go AWAY?!"

The Smoker took a few steps back, clearly startled by the sudden noise. I heard him shuffle around on the blacktop a little, and then there was a thump against the trailer's siding. Maybe I should have been, but at the time I was not concerned. He was away from the door, and that was what mattered. Out of sight, relatively out of mind. My focus needed to be on sleep. After running around for a few days, I needed the rest. Still, I could not shake the longing for a bed, a real bed to sleep on, to snuggle into and feel safe in. Plywood in a trailer would never give me that feeling. Come to think of it, nothing would ever give me that feeling again. I was not safe anymore.

Better start getting used to it.


	4. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you were to tell me that one day, I would consider a monster as my greatest ally, I would have laughed in your face. I guess beggars can't be choosers when there is no one left to choose from.

I don't know how I managed, honestly, but it happened. My nerves calmed just enough for a few hours of sleep. Sure, I kept waking up randomly throughout the night. Unfortunately, I couldn't even blame nightmares for that. It had been a dreamless sleep that I would have given anything to dive back into, but that was easier said than done. Sitting in that trailer, hearing the mumbles of passing infected, struck me with the same sense of dread I had since I'd first figured out what was going on in the world. And that makes it hard to get a good night's rest, let me tell you. The last time I'd awoken, I'd had enough and opted to stay awake, which only meant shivering against the warm air and hugging my knees. "I'll be okay," I muttered softly, nodding along with the declaration despite the fact that I wasn't entirely sure I believed myself. Maybe if I kept saying it, I would; that's how it works, right? "Yeah...yeah, I got this. I can do this-"

As if on cue, nails scratched along the siding right behind me, and I froze. After hearing the tank earlier in the day-yesterday, I suppose it would be, I was still on edge. I mean, if it WERE a tank lurking out there, the trailer would likely have been up-ended the moment I'd spoken to myself, so it was probably just some random zombie using the trailer as support as it walked. Still freaky as hell, but I could deal with it. I was just about ready to dismiss it as that when I noticed something by the door; a cluster of speckled green lumps poking through the bars, with muffled coughs and panting to go along with them. Come to think of it, I hadn't heard that smoker wander off. I figured he would have lost interest while I slept, yet there he stood on the wooden steps, inspecting the inner walls of the trailer with his one good eye. His deformed profile is hard to mistake, even in the dark.

"Well, good morning to you, too," I murmured, rolling my shoulders. The smoker shifted where he stood, pushing against the door until he could look upon me, and for a few minutes, everything had fallen silent, save for his occasional wheeze. Once upon a time, I'd hated that, silence. There always had to be some kind of noise-a TV, the radio, a fan, something-otherwise I felt like my skin was absolutely crawling. Now...well, I have to admit, it was kind of nice. If it dragged on too long, I'm sure that crawly feeling would return, but for the time being, I was savoring it. At that point, I scooted away from the wall, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. "What were you doing out there all night?"

And it's at that moment, I realized I was talking to a zombie. That has to be somewhere on the checklist of 'symptoms of insanity'. The only way I could really justify it is the natural need for socialization that most people have, and seeing as it sounds better than the alternative, I was going with that.

The Smoker tilted his head, raising a hand to scratch at the largest lump on his face. Weird as it was for me speaking to him, it was probably just as odd for him to be spoken to. Considering most uninfected people probably either screamed or ran-or were wrapped up in that tongue, somebody just talking to him probably threw him for a loop. The fact that I had not shot at him was probably nice, too. Whatever the reason, he just stood there, as quietly as a wheezy smoker can manage, and regarded me with a weird curiosity. Tilting his head, following even the most subtle of my movements. I met his gaze and still he made no hostile move, like launching that tongue through the bars, nor did he shit away like he had the first time we'd made eye contact. Intriguing, but I was not going to dwell upon it. I released a breath, one deeper than I'd thought it was, teeth worrying my lower lip. "Why won't you just go away?"

In the distance came a rumble of thunder. A storm was closing in, though it seemed to be a ways away. That made it no less depressing. If there was one thing that bothered me more than silence, it was storms. Yes, I will suck up the courage to feed candy to a zombie, but I will hide whenever I hear thunder cracks. Kind of an old habit, I suppose. And, I'm a wuss; I'll be the first to admit that. The Smoker heard it too, as he glanced off in the direction of the crash before his nosiness brought him back to me. "...why haven't you killed me yet?" Not that I was complaining, of course, but...that's what they were supposed to do, wasn't it? Kill the normal people? "I really doubt all you want is my damn candy…"

All I received in reply was a quiet rasp. The smoker rest his misshapen forehead on the steel, his nasty leathery tongue audibly bumping against the door. I'll admit, this thing was starting to pique my own curiosity. As I have mentioned, prior to finding him, I had never encountered a smoker, but even so, I knew his behavior was...off. Reports had claimed they were skittish, quick to run when spotted or engaged, and deadly; if that tongue got a hold of you, it was lights out, unless someone else came along and saved your sorry ass. I am...inclined to believe that last bit, considering the fact that I'd watched him crush another infected.

"What?" I mimicked his position as best I could, laying my chin on my arms to watch him. "You wanna come in here, too, huh?" The smoker only shifted as the sky above him clouded over, turning his head just so and his bloodied tongue inside. It's obvious that he cannot respond to me as a normal person would, and there's no guarantee he would if he could, yet it appeared as though he was hanging on my words. I can't really describe it-sort of like a dog, when you talk to them. They cannot understand you entirely, but they give the impression that they're enjoying every word that comes out of your mouth. Every time I spoke, his head would tip and tilt, or that eye would open just a little wider than usual. Creepy as it is, it's kind of...neat, in its own right. "Sorry, big guy. If I knew for a fact you wouldn't rip me apart, we could talk about it, but I think you're spending the night out there."

Now, in general, I am one of those people that try to look on the bright side of things. There are two sides to everything, and I can usually find the good stuff. Usually. A few of my friends used to call it 'obnoxious optimism', but hey, I was pretty proud of that. Since this all started, that optimism has faded. In the dragging minutes to follow, in the back of my mind, I started to wonder exactly WHY it mattered if he would attack. Even if I survived the night, what did I have to look forward to? What was there for me-or anyone else, for that matter-anymore? Zombies, zombies, dead bodies, and….oh, hey, more zombies. Yep, that's worth it. Definitely sounds like something worthy of my paranoid caution.

Outside, the rain began to fall. Had I not heard it hitting pavement, I would have know as soon as the wind picked up, as it blew some of the droplets through the bars. The smoker shoved his hands into the pockets of his dirty jacket, wet hair sticking to different places on his head. It wasn't cold out there by any means; I honestly think he did not appreciate being soggy, and I couldn't blame him. Anyone familiar with that feeling knows it is not the most pleasant in the world. Being drenched in the rain only made it worse; I knew that well enough to actually feel bad for that poor thing, especially when he could see me inside the trailer; nice and dry, not exactly comfortable but more so than he was out there-

Call me stupid. Go ahead and call me suicidal. Hell, I was doing that a little bit myself, if I'm honest. Even with my exhausted, rattled brain, I knew it was a horrible idea, but still I pushed to my feet with all the speed and grace of someone climbing out of bed first thing in the morning. It was still enough to startle the smoker outside, apparently, as he took a quick step back, hands shielding his head from the rain drops (or, so it seemed), a nervous yell penetrating the storm's ambiance and echoing through the trailer. "Shhh…" As if that would shut him up. I inched over to the door, hesitated, and...lifted the bar holding it shut. I knew that smoker could tear me apart if he really wanted to, but here's the thing: deep down, I don't think I really cared. When you look out at the world and see nothing but mutants, death, destruction, and abandoned life all around, it really doesn't give you much of a reason to care, let me tell you. Pretty sure it's one of those things that can kick-start depression into high gear. It certainly did for me. Add that to the fact that, at the time, I did not have my family to keep me grounded, as they always did-that was my rock, so to speak, and I wasn't doing well without it-and it doesn't bode well for my mental state. If the infected decided to kill me, I would have almost considered it doing me a favor.

Almost. I hadn't quite reached the point of no return, but taking a risk like that was the first step down that road, isn't it?

I tugged the handle of the door, leaving it open a crack, and backed away slowly. If this smoker wanted in, then he could have it-and once he had it, I was locking up behind him. There was no way in hell any other infected were coming in. One roomie was enough for me, and I needed to re-bolt that door. With another step back, a familiar crackling caught both our attentions. A Rolo had been flattened under my muddy shoe, and suddenly I remembered the bag was still there, lying discarded on the ground. I reached down to grab another piece, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the smoker straighten, taking an eager stride towards me before hesitation grabbed the reins again. I only scoffed, folding my arms over my chest as he came a little closer. Points to him, he'd managed to find the courage to climb the stairs, pausing on the very top step with his hands laid upon the door. "Alright, look, I'm giving you one shot here. Either come in, or go away," I said, for all the good it would do me. "I really don't want any of your friends bargin' in, too."

Still he stood there. Watching, observing, and I thought I realized the problem.

A few slow steps to the right moved me away from the door. This guy seemed pretty jumpy for an infected; it's almost comical, come to think of it, considering I had seen him-heard him, rather, crush another in the coils of that nasty tongue of his, but it seems my presence near the door did unnerve him. Once I was out of the way, a tense moment passed (I assumed he was making sure I was out of the way) before the door slowly creaked open. The smoker stuck his bulbous head in, gaze locking on me before drifting down to the smashed candy on the floor. His eye narrowed at it, like it had given him the surge of determination he needed, and he squeezed the rest of his body inside. Meanwhile, my heart threatened to leap out of my chest. There I was, standing straight across from an infected, a goddamn smoker, like he was some common, harmless dog I'd stumbled upon in my travels. My stomach tied itself into knots, every fiber in my body expecting to be wrapped up in that tongue any second-but he, apparently, had other plans, which involved ignoring me to peel the candy off the floor and limp over to the back wall, as far from me as he could manage indoors. He knelt down, hunching his body over his folded legs, and leaned on the broken wood. Inside for all of a minute and his entire being screamed 'happy to be out of the rain'. And my entire being couldn't blame the poor thing.

Slowly, so not to startle him, I pressed my back to the opposite wall near the door, sliding over inch by inch to push the door closed. At that point, his attention split; part of him was concerned with the candy in his hands, the other was intent on me, watching my every move, studying me, perhaps for signs of aggression. I tried to ignore him, which is so much easier in theory than it is in practice, and lifted the bar back into its position to lock up for the rest of the night.

"What the hell am I doing…?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him cock his head. That, I took as a good sign. Curiosity was good, right? Aside from that, he did not pay me much mind, far more concerned with shoving the smashed little Rolo down his throat than listening to my ramblings, so I opted to take a seat again, kneeling just a little closer to his chosen position. For a few minutes, I merely watched him, just as he would occasionally glance up and watch me, and that was enough for a while. However, that was the night I was positively full of stupid ideas, as the longer I knelt there, the stronger the urge became to….wow, looking back, I still have to wonder how I made it as long as I did….

I rose up on my hands and knees, which gave him a start. Not the best start of things, I know. Scaring the infected very well may provoke aggression, and that's about the last thing I wanted right then. "It's okay," I murmured softly, crawling towards him at the most unhurried pace I could manage, despite my screaming shins. Plywood hurts, alright. "You and I both know I can't hurt you…" Or, at least, I knew that. The smoker seemed less convinced. He shot to his feet, towering over my crawling form, and screamed, pressing himself against the wall in a vain effort to put some distance between us. I stood up as well, halting my advance, holding my trembling hands in front of me. "Easy,easy! I'm sorry! I didn't...I didn't mean to scare you." Rachele...are you out of your freakin' mind?!

I gave him (and me; I'm not ashamed to admit that) a second to calm down, and my approach resumed. Another step in his direction, I reached a hand out, palm up, but he still wasn't having any of that nonsense. Instantly, he jerked and limped his retreat to the corner farthest from me. At that point, I started to wonder if he wanted out, but never once did he go near or even look at that door, so that suspicion was quickly put to rest. Whatever his issue was, it wasn't getting any better now matter how much I tried to soothe his fear, so I gave up, merely shaking my head at the infected. "You're just a huge wuss, aren'cha?"

He responded with another gravelly yell.

Of course, I flinched. I'm sorry, but when an infected screams at you, it's pretty hard not to. But, I recovered pretty quick, too, waving a dismissive had at him. "Fine, fine. Hide over there. Just remember, you can't hurt me if you won't even come BY me. It's only fair."

On the bright side, I figured if he was going to kill me, he would have done it already. There had been plenty of opportunities, both before I'd let him in and within the whole...what, ten minutes he'd been inside. All of the latter were my fault, yet he hadn't acted on a single one. Maybe it was gratitude for getting him out of the rain; probably not, I know, but I had to justify it somehow. Besides, I was pretty proud of myself for helping him out of the storm, honestly. Maybe I shouldn't have cared; he's infected, right? Who knew how many people died because of him, and here I'm sheltering him? That doesn't seem right, does it? I took a deep breath, running a hand through my greasy hair. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Prior to this whole mess, I was working my way to become a nurse. Always had been a dream of mine, and now it's coming back to kick me. You can't go through so much training and not expect to feel at least a little sympathy for the sick-which is exactly what he is. A sick human being. Right?

...technically, yes.

However, there is much more to being human than the DNA. The mind has to remain intact, as well. All things considered, that was one thing that he, and all the other infected, lacked, to varying degrees. But, I would be willing to bet he has more wits about him than, say, the mumbling folks I hear outside. No doubt they would have attacked, had I offered shelter to them instead-whatever. Mulling over details and trying to warrant my brainless actions made my head hurt.

I dug in my pocket for another piece of candy, rolling it in my palm until I caught his attention. At that point, I claimed a spot on the wall farthest from him and rolled the bite-sized prize across the floor towards him. My eyelids kept drooping despite my nerves, but I was so certain I would never be able to sleep with him being so close. Instead, I settled for reclining uncomfortably on the wood to observe, and from the look of it, he was still planning to do the same...after he'd retrieved the peace-offering, of course.

The last thing I remember from that night was seeing that pasty eye staring at me-through me, it felt-before my exhaustion finally managed to overpower me.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, and thank you for taking the time to read this! 
> 
> After a lengthy hiatus, I have finally gotten around to finishing this particular fic, and adding it here as well, as opposed to leaving it over on ff.net. This is one of few stories that I have actually missed writing and look forward to finishing (found the notes for it, and I'm super excited to move forward!), so expect the rest soon. I'm editing established chapters, as well, on top of adding new ones along the way, so it's going to be a busy time on this end. But anyway, thanks again for reading, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts!


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